"I understand the reasoning, but why you?"
"I already told you—Dumbledore has other matters to attend to. No matter how capable he is, he can't split himself in two."
"What about Professor McGonagall, then? She's the Deputy Headmistress, isn't she?"
"She's occupied with matters concerning the new students. You're asking a lot of questions, William. And judging by your tone, I'm starting to feel you're not exactly pleased with this meeting."
"No, Severus. I'm very glad to see you," William replied calmly. "I just have one more question. Why did you think of coming to me?"
This time, Snape didn't answer.
Faced with William's follow-up question, he simply scowled, reached into his black robes, and pulled out a freshly printed newspaper that still smelled of ink. With a sharp slap, he tossed it onto the table in front of William.
"This is today's Daily Prophet Evening Edition. They rushed it to print—several hours earlier than usual."
William raised an eyebrow and picked it up. Splashed across the front page, in bold black letters, was an eye-catching headline:
MINISTRY OFFICIALS IN VIOLENT CLASH!
ONE RESIGNS—TWO LEFT HANGING FROM THE CEILING FOR HOURS!
Beneath the headline was a moving black-and-white photograph. In it, Cornelius and Dolores Umbridge looked like two enormous, fully dressed balloons, bobbing helplessly beneath the ceiling, limbs flailing in all directions—so ridiculous it was almost comical.
William glanced at the photo, the corners of his mouth lifting in clear amusement, then casually tossed the newspaper back to Snape.
"Seems you're paying close attention to me, Severus. I'd only just left my post, and you were already at my door."
"Don't flatter yourself. I don't feel that strongly about you," Snape sneered, pushing the paper aside with visible disdain. "Dumbledore received the news and sent a letter specifically asking for you. I'm just the messenger."
In a dim corner of the Leaky Cauldron, candlelight flickered unsteadily.
William had been sitting there alone, enjoying his first drink after resigning from the Ministry, when Snape descended on him like an oversized bat and got straight to the point—asking whether he was willing to return to Hogwarts as a professor of Alchemy. That was how the earlier exchange had come about.
William lifted his wineglass and took an elegant sip of the amber-colored sherry, his gaze roaming unrestrainedly over the Snape seated across from him.
Snape looked like a brooding statue, his black robes nearly melting into the shadows. Only his dark eyes betrayed a clear impatience.
"To be honest, Severus," William said mildly, "you look like you've aged."
Snape lifted his eyes, and they instantly turned dangerous.
But William seemed not to notice. He set down his glass and, using the slightly greasy reflection in the tavern window, examined his own sharply defined profile and meticulously kept hair. He straightened his collar and added calmly,
"While I, on the other hand, remain in excellent form."
Snape's fingers tightened around his glass, the muscles in his face twitching ever so slightly.
"Hmph. Now I understand why your political career came to such an abrupt end, William," Snape said with a cold laugh squeezed out from deep in his throat. "That once-proud, brilliant student has fallen so far he can only admire himself in dirty glass—clinging to what little self-esteem he has left through his pitiful good looks. How tragic."
In the face of Snape's verbal attack, William showed no sign of anger. He merely waved a hand lightly, as though brushing away an annoying insect.
"No need to be so heated, Severus. You'll age even faster that way. We were on good terms once, after all. Even if we drifted apart after graduation, that hardly justifies attacking me."
William felt their estrangement was only natural. He had entered the Ministry of Magic, while Snape had joined the Death Eaters—two completely divergent paths.
Though, he mused, had he accepted Barty's invitation to become an Auror back then, he and Snape might have crossed paths far more often.
At the mention of "the past," the mocking expression on Snape's face froze for a brief instant.
His gaze deepened, as if looking past William's still-handsome face and into memories of a school life that was anything but pleasant.
After a moment of silence, Snape spoke slowly, his voice lower.
"Our friendship could have been better back then. You know that, William."
Of course William knew what he meant.
Though he had ultimately been sorted into Ravenclaw, his family background had kept him on good terms with many pure-blood wizards in Slytherin, which was how he'd met Severus Snape.
Bonded by exceptional magical talent and a shared passion for research, the two had once been fairly close. Snape, however, had always hoped William would take a clearer stand on his side against the Marauders.
"But I was never obliged to do that, Severus," William said with a helpless sigh, idly turning his glass. "I never had a deep personal hatred against James Potter."
At the name, Snape's pupils contracted sharply. His hand beneath the table clenched into a fist, his voice rising with agitation.
"No hatred? You were confined for an entire term because of Potter and Black after a duel! You even lost your prefect badge because of it!"
"That was during the Quidditch final," William recalled calmly.
"Both sides were playing aggressively. James and I spotted the Snitch at the same time—it was the decisive moment. We were flying at full speed—collisions were inevitable."
"I'll admit I lost my temper. When I changed direction, I drove my elbow straight into James's face. Nearly knocked him off his broom."
William shrugged lightly.
"Yes, he got a nosebleed, and his face swelled a bit, but that hardly constitutes a lifelong feud. Things only escalated because while James was in the hospital wing, Black decided to stand up for his friend and pulled his wand on me in the corridor."
He paused, then looked at Snape steadily.
"We were close, Severus, because we shared common ground in magical research. That doesn't mean I have to inherit your enemies."
"I don't like James Potter's arrogance. I don't like Sirius Black's recklessness. But that doesn't mean I must treat them as enemies for life—"
"That's enough."
Before William could finish, Snape abruptly stood.
Clearly, dredging up old memories—especially anything involving Potter—had pushed him past his limit. His sallow face was etched with irritation, dark eyes fixed coldly on William.
"We've strayed too far. I have no interest in listening to you reminisce about your 'rational' youth."
Looking down at him, Snape said sharply,
"I'll ask you one final question, William Shafiq. Are you willing to take the position of Professor of Alchemy or not? I need an answer for Dumbledore."
William smiled, drained the last sip of sherry from his glass, and set it down.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
"Good."
Having obtained his answer, Snape wasted no time. He snapped his black robes around himself like a startled bird, swept up a gust of cold air, and strode away without a backward glance.